


3984

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Cyberpunk, Happy Ending, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Reincarnation, Sci-Fi, Self-Sacrifice, additional warnings in the author's note, ambiguous HEA, cyberspace, death doesn't mean death, future world, post-cyberpunk, terminal illness, this is not a tragic story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s year 3984. Merlin is still waiting for Arthur to return.</p><p>(Or the one with Arthur returning as a sex program)</p>
            </blockquote>





	3984

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the notes at the end of the story if you’re anxious about warnings, because it is sci-fi, future-world story and things like death or illness aren’t what they appear.  
> The serious illness warnings refer to a debilitation of Merlin's corporeal body. Self-sacrifice and suicide warnings refer to him transcending the physical state of being.  
> I have to warn for a bunch of secondary OC’s here, too.
> 
> If you feel that some terms I use aren’t understandable, I put a small glossary at the end of the story.
> 
> ***
> 
> First of all I want to thank **Puckboum** for making this magnificent piece of art that caught my heart and made me write this story. I’ve never had so much fun with a story before. Cyberpunk was my true love when I was younger and it was a pleasure to try and write a story set in this world. Thank you **Chosenfire** for letting me know about this prompt and for running the fest!
> 
> I want to thank my best beta **Sillygoose** for straightening up this story and my language, **Albymangroves** for helping me to write the warnings and **Fr333bird** and **Detochkina** for pre-reading and ensuring me there’s some logic in my absurd sci-fi world ;)
> 
> Apologizes to William Gibson, Pat Cadigan, Masamune Shirow, Mamoru Oshii and other Cyberpunk brilliant creators for shameless playing with their toys.
> 
> Written for the **[Merlin Reverse Big Bang 2014](http://merlinreversebb.livejournal.com/)** for [this art prompt](http://i.imgur.com/xYDwjLx.jpg) by **Puckboum**

****

 

**3984**

 

_It’s 3984. Merlin is still waiting._

 

Merlin throws some microchips into the little tray under the fiberglass window, and the woman on the other side of it sweeps them up and passes him a key card without looking at him. She’s wrapped in layers of warm clothing that look like old rags, and is totally transfixed by a screen that’s displaying a mix of traditional and 3D holo-images. Merlin wonders why she doesn’t just use her AR implant, but he guesses some people like it the old-fashioned way.

He starts climbing the narrow staircase. It smells like piss and cooking oil back here. He passes a Boy-A on the way—this one is dressed in shorts and a small sparkly top, her/his hair done up, eyelash extensions so long s/he can hardly keep her/his eyes open enough to see properly.

“Looking for some real love, boy?” s/he asks, but Merlin shakes his head. ~~~~

Merlin swipes the key card through the lock and enters the room. He flinches at the sight of a plastic cot that’s stained with something he doesn’t really want to know about. He shuts the door and mutters the spell to clean up the cot, grateful that at least simple magic doesn’t exhaust him much nowadays. He lies down, ignoring the glasses, headphones and touch-sensor hanging on the wall. He doesn’t need it to plug in. His magic pulls him inside the program, his mind immersing without the aid of implants or nanochips or any of the VR gear. In fact, he could access the Net from anywhere on earth, but then he wouldn’t be able to use the particular software they provide in this cheap love-motel, since it’s not connected to the main Net. That's the whole deal with this business: it's only available in love-motels. Anonymity has its price.

Merlin closes his eyes, relaxes his palms, clears his thoughts and dives in.

“You’re late,” Arthur says. He’s sitting across the room on a red chair that looks a bit like a throne, one foot placed nonchalantly over his knee.

As usual, Merlin’s breath catches at the sight of him. “I’m sorry. I’ve had… things to do.”

Arthur watches him, his grey-blue eyes so real. “Are you high?”

Merlin shakes his head. “You know I don’t do that anymore.” No, Arthur’s Merlin’s drug.

When Merlin first saw the sign for the “Avalon” love-motel, he chuckled humorlessly and walked away. But then, high on Syntec—which Merlin believes is the best drug humans have ever synthesized—exhausted and sleep deprived, he’d gone inside.

“What would you like, honey?” the lady at the front desk had asked him.

“Blond hair, blue eyes,” he’d answered.

He remembers throwing up later on the street behind the Avalon. And he remembers how it had felt to see software-induced Arthur for the first time. Merlin had extended his hand then, not sure how the program worked: if he’d be able to feel it, or just see the construct pulled out of his dreams. His hand went through thin air, as if Arthur was a ghost. Perhaps if Merlin went to one of those high-tech, posh places Earth’s orbit stations provide, he’d be able to buy himself a more real dream with all the sensations, but he doesn’t want that. He can barely handle this much as it is.

He’s tweaked the vision ever since that first time, adding details, every little thing that he remembers about Arthur, that he’s cherished and kept in his mind all these years. He wishes he could hack the software without destroying it, so Arthur would stop undressing every time, would stop putting on a show of wetting his palm and stroking his cock in front of Merlin with a seductive look in his eyes and obscene twist to his mouth. At first Merlin tried to ignore it, but now he knows it’ll give him much more time to talk to Arthur if he just follows the default pattern. He strokes himself fast to completion to the mirrored vision of Arthur doing the same and focuses on not hearing Arthur’s gasps and pleas for Merlin to fuck him.

“I think there’s something wrong with the Net,” he tells Arthur once Arthur’s decent again, sitting on the chair, blond hair falling into his eyes. Merlin thinks better when he can talk to Arthur.

“Something?”

“I don’t know. A shadow. Something eating up the data.”

Arthur leans forward, his fingertips joined, listening. In Merlin’s dreams Arthur always listens patiently, in contrast to Merlin’s memories. He doesn’t storm out of the room, doesn’t throw wine goblets at the walls; he just sits there, serious and attentive.

“AI? A virus?” Arthur asks.

“Perhaps. Seems different though.” Merlin’s been scanning the Net for years, searching for patterns and loops, mending whatever holes he can find with his magic so the Net doesn’t fall into decay like everything else around him. So the world can go on while Merlin waits for Arthur to return, as Kilgharrah promised.

Usually Merlin allows his mind to flow through the data, scanning the images, reorganizing them where they need to be mended. But the last time he pushed a block of images aside, something behind him moved, casting a dark shadow ahead. Merlin turned around but there wasn’t anything there. He felt odd, though, cold fear seeping into his heart. He’d withdrawn from the Net, shaken.

“Be careful,” Arthur says, as if Merlin isn’t. But this Arthur cares about him. He says what Merlin wants him to say.

“I might not be here for a few days. Have to take a short trip.” He’s apologetic even though Arthur won’t really feel his absence.

Their connection breaks because the time’s up, and Merlin sits up and rubs his temples for a moment. He feels dizzy, similar to what he used to feel when the Syntec was wearing off. He leaves the Avalon and enters the nearest train station. The platform’s packed, smelling of sweat, perfume and metal. People all around are immersed in their devices, connected, eyes not seeing what’s in front of them. Merlin stands at the back, letting the slow movement of the train lull him. He leans his head on the window and thinks of Arthur’s lips, parted when he comes, Arthur’s fingers when he wraps them around his cock.

***

“Thanks.” Merlin blows on the Pho soup he got from the stand next to the tech repair shop where he works and sleeps. The greasy liquid is hot on his lips, but he’s hungry and it doesn’t bother him that much. He doesn’t remember when he’s last eaten, but it couldn’t have been today. He throws the empty plastic bowl into a trash receptacle and trudges up the street, passing more stands with food, tech supplies, plastic toys, and clothes, next to tattoo and body enhancement shops, aesthetic clinics, and chip exchanges. He ducks under a curtain of beads, activating the shop’s bell.

“There you are,” Li Wei says, not looking up from a device he’s working on. His grey head is bent over a countertop filled with hardware. He’s so similar to Gaius it’s uncanny. Merlin tries hard to shake that feeling off whenever it grips his guts. It doesn’t do him well to get too attached to people. He doesn’t deal well with loss anymore.

“Can you look at this dragon?” Li Wei asks, passing a robo-toy he’s been repairing to Merlin. “That little devil, Jen’s son, has broken it again.”

Merlin grumbles because he remembers the neighbor kid that keeps breaking whatever his little fingers touch. He walks to the counter and examines the pile of mechanical parts lying there. He might not be too adept with putting the pieces back together—that’s Li Wei’s job—but he can detect system failures, fix them, bend programs to his will, if he must. They both work in silence for a moment. Merlin closes the shell of the little dragon and flicks on the light that’s placed on the dragon’s head.

“Seems fine to me now,” he says, putting the toy aside. Li Wei takes it, looks it over, pulls a little screwdriver out of the cubbyhole in his prosthetic arm, and reassembles the wings that are lying in pieces.

“Did you eat?” Li Wei asks, opening the little fridge under the counter.

“Yes, thank you.” Merlin leans on the wall, shivering slightly.

Li Wei looks him over, arching his eyebrows inquiringly. “You look tired again.”

“I am tired,” Merlin admits. He might have gone too long without sleep, he thinks. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of days and nights in the city.

“Go on then.” Li Wei shakes his head towards the back room. “Get some rest. I can handle the shop myself. Slow day, anyway. Go.”

In the tiny room at the back of the shop, Merlin lies down on the mattress, lights flickering in front of his eyes. He’s too tired to sleep. Instead, he listens to Li Wei whistling, people going up and down the street outside, the distant sounds of music, and the rare jingling of the bell whenever someone comes into the shop. He curls on his side and scrubs the paint on the wall with his fingernail. It feels real, cold and rough, staining his skin with white flakes.

 

***

He wakes up to a heavy pounding in his head. This seems to be happening more and more often lately. The last time it was this bad, Merlin had been high for days on Syntec, but it’s been months since he last used. Maybe it’s something in the food, he thinks. His body is not as well adjusted as people who were born in this century. Before, whenever he felt tired or sick, he used to hide it behind the old body, but now if you’re old it means you’re poor, or mental, or an outcast. Various clinics and aesthetic studios provide ever-young, perfect bodies for those who can afford it. Merlin doesn’t want to stand out much—he needs to blend in to do what he does. He needs to keep afloat so he can wait. So he maintains his appearance as a twenty-something man, even if it costs him a lot of effort. His magic has weakened over the years.

He rummages through his rucksack and pulls out a few pain-relief patches, tearing one of them with his teeth and sticking it to his arm. Then he lies back down, waiting for the pain to subside enough so he’s able to stand up without throwing up.

“Going then?” Li Wei asks when Merlin emerges from the backroom, adjusting his gear.

“Yeah, won’t be long, though.”

“That’s what you always say. At least get something to eat.” Li Wei passes Merlin a package of processed proteins. It makes Merlin’s stomach tighten. He shakes his head. “Thanks, I’ll get something on the shuttle.”

“That’s what you always say, too.” Li Wei sticks the package into Merlin’s rucksack.

The sky above the city is dark grey, and the first drops of rain start to fall just as Merlin’s going down the street. He pulls on his hood, ignoring the _Ad-brellas_ in baskets, luring him with colors and happy talk on each corner. He soon navigates through a crowd of people going in every direction, so he doesn’t even need an umbrella anyway—he can hide under other people’s well enough.

He takes a train to the port.

“You have only two credits left, sir. Refill your account soon,” the front door scanning his eyes informs him politely. Merlin ignores it and jumps inside. At the port he goes through the scanning gates and presses his second card into the ticket booth, hoping he has enough credits there. He can’t waste time going into the Net and tweaking his accounts now. Besides, everything he does leaves a trace and he doesn’t need to be followed.

On the shuttle he tackles the harness and shuts his eyes against the piercing white light of the cabin. It’s the first taste of the style that’s going to hit him as soon as he reaches the Orb, the biggest and oldest of the stations built to orbit the Earth. He waits for the shuttle to take off, wanting to use the little time it takes to get to the Orb to sleep. The AI who rules the Orb can be demanding, and his energy is running low.

“Sir, you’ll need to put this in the compartment above your head,” an attendant says.

A human stewardess stands next to him. She’s wearing a tight white dress and screen glasses on her face. They’re making her eyes look distant, as if she’s not seeing anything in front of her but rather focusing on the data flow. Merlin fingers the rucksack. He hates parting with it. Sometimes he feels that the piece of cloth, the silver sigil, and the ancient waterskin he’s hiding there are the only things keeping him sane. They give him an anchor so he can know what’s real and what’s computer generated. He stands up and puts the bag in the compartment obediently, though.

“Could I have a glass of water?” he asks, and while he waits he sticks another pain-relief patch on his forearm, gritting his teeth when the drug hits him, causing a wave of nausea. He curls on the seat and tries to sleep.

The docking station at the Orb is crowded and unbearably bright. Merlin’s never got used to wearing shades, but he’s blinded by the surrounding white, so he pulls a pair of old-fashioned Ray-Bans out of his rucksack’s side-pocket and almost moans with relief when they dull the light a bit. He passes through security, nervous as usual. His identity implants are good, but he’s always afraid someone will expose him as an impostor.

He keeps his head low, as if it could help matters, and steps in and out of moving carpets, walking-tunnels and elevators. It’s a long trip, and once he’s reached his destination he’s exhausted. He hates the artificial pull of the low gravity level here. No matter how stinky and rainy the old Earth gets these days, Merlin prefers it to the always-moderate conditions of orbit-stations. Here in the Orb, without proximity to the heart of the Earth, he can barely feel his magic anymore, and that makes him feel jittery and out of place.

There are no guards at the entrance to the Palace where the Orb’s main AI, aka _The Queen,_ resides, but then again she isn’t there really—it’s just a representation of data, an image she upholds for the sake of the people. The door opens soundlessly in front of Merlin and he walks inside, letting the VR of this place swallow him.

The hall is huge, miles of open shiny surfaces spreading each way he looks. It’s grown bigger since the last time he was here, he reckons. Black columns climb up towards the sky and vanish in the black void that’s above. Merlin’s boots make a clicking sound on the synthetic floor that’s flickering and changing hue as he walks. At the end of the aisle, in front of a huge screen projecting dozens of images, stands a black glass pedestal with a desk.

“Hello, Merlin,” Queen Morgana greets him from behind the desk. She’s wearing a black and red Japanese kimono. Her hair is done up, pinched with red combs. Her face is blank, changing along with the light just like the floor and the screen behind her. It’s hard to focus on it, so Merlin pulls his hood further down over his eyes.

“Is this how you see me?” he asks, thumbing the thick, medieval coat weighing his shoulders down. His hair is long and white, reaching his collarbones. The virtual reality in the Palace is playing tricks on his mind.

“This is how you see yourself, dear,” Morgana says.

“Do I?” Merlin mutters, thinking how many traits of the real Morgana this AI has. When he first met “her” online, she was just a computer program that had rebelled against its creators—a bundle of data and conscious energy, a super-adaptive cognitive system. She was drifting in the Net in the form of a tiny “box,” corrupting everything she touched. Merlin doesn’t know what made him lend this angry AI his memories of Morgana, but he hopes he thought of Morgana warmly enough to make this AI softer, more human, just like Morgana had been in the beginning. Still, there’s a trace of madness and ruthlessness in _Queen Morgana_ that Merlin’s afraid of, especially since she’s the most powerful AI on the Net and the main force behind everything on the Orb.

“You’ve come to talk about the Shadow on the Net, if I assume right?” she says.

“You saw it, too?”

She leans towards Merlin. The images that construct her face settle down for a moment, fixing on an image so close to what Morgana used to look like that Merlin swallows, his throat gone dry.

“Of course.”

“Do you know what it is?” he asks, hating to admit how much information he’s missing.

Morgana’s face flickers again, the image of a long-lashed pop star ghosting her pale skin like an overlapping TV programs. “Huge bits of intel are disappearing. It consumes whatever it reaches. Like anti-matter.”

“There’s no matter in the Net,” Merlin says.

Morgana raises her eyebrows as if Merlin is an insolent child she has to chastise. “Don’t be so sure of it. Anyway, this is why I said “like” antimatter. I’m trying to use metaphors so you can grasp the problem.”

Merlin laughs. Snarky AI. He shakes his head and bows. “Thank you for being so considerate of my feeble, human brain.”

She smiles, too. “Be careful, Merlin. I’d miss you if you got swallowed by shadows.”

He wonders if Morgana even understands the concept of a missing a person, but he has to admit he’d miss Morgana himself if _she_ were to disappear. She’s been a steady constant for more than the last hundred years, an unexpected ally making his life here much, much easier.

“I’ll bear this in mind,” he says. “Keep me informed about the Shadow.” He knows she’ll only let him know what she wants him to know. He rubs his chest. Even here, held in the virtual reality between the material and the superficial, he can feel the tightness in his ribs, as well as the sodding headache.

Morgana’s watching him impassively. “Maybe it’s time you pulled your Arthur out of your memories and make him alive on the Net?”

 _No_ , Merlin thinks.

“I will help you. You know my offer always stands. Until then…” She puts her palms together. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

 ***

Merlin walks out of the palace, back into the blinding white light, feeling weak. He could’ve tried contacting Morgana without coming in here, but then they wouldn’t have been able to talk freely, not on the main Net where every place has ears and every activity leaves a trace. His head is pounding still, his chest hurts, his arms and legs are shaking, and he feels sick. It’d do him good to get a full body scan at one of the Orb’s super-clinics while he’s here, since there’s only so many painkillers he can push into his system. He hopes Morgana will make sure his account is filled with the enough credits. It’s too late for this today though, so he allows himself a bit of luxury, and with his own remaining credits he rents a sleeping capsule in the lower level for the night.

The capsule is tight and basic, but it has a responsive mattress and a high-tech image display system—the one that allows you to plug in your chosen memories and watch them on the low ceiling like a personal video. Merlin hasn’t done it in years, but he feels ill and miserable and self-indulgent.

Soon enough Arthur’s smile fills the space: Arthur at a tournament, Arthur by the campfire, Arthur sharing his mother’s sigil with Merlin, Arthur playing dice, grinning. Arthur in the love-motel gripping his cock, licking his lips seductively, because Merlin’s memories of Arthur have long ago drifted and mixed with the things he’s imagined later, things that the love-motel software provided. He wishes he’d known Arthur like this back in Camelot, but times were different then and there was no way a prince or a king would bed his manservant. Merlin lifts his hand, stroking the images, but he’s too tired to stay awake. He drifts into dreams of water glistening in the sun and green grass underneath his feet.

***

“Mr. Emrys.”

There’s a real doctor standing next to Merlin’s diagnostic bay at the clinic, and Merlin thinks “uh-oh,” since the clinics rarely send out a human physician, not unless the patient’s state is severe.

He sits up, trying to not tangle any of the lines that connect him to the scanning machines. His hands shake less today after the decent night’s sleep, but the headache lingers, and he wishes they would just give him his share of transdermal drugs and send him on his way.

“Mr. Emrys, for now we’ve filled your body with fluids and nutrients, but there’s only so much modern medicine can do. Every human body grows old eventually. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

Merlin nods. He starts unhooking the wires without waiting for a technician to come and do it. “I know I’m old. So, what can you do? Besides putting me on an IV with vitamins, that is.”

“You are an interesting case, Mr. Emrys. I don’t think I’ve ever had a patient with a cell structure as old as yours. Your DNA pattern is odd. Where was it you said you were from?

“Wales,” Merlin mutters, hoping it will cut the discussion short. There’s no Wales, hasn’t been for hundreds of years.

“Yes,” the doctor says. He has round eyes and pleasant face; it’s ageless and expressionless and trustworthy. A perfect face for a doctor, surely designed specifically for this profession.

“So? Can you help me with the headaches at least?” Merlin asks, wanting to be done. He’s pulling up his boots now, tying up the clasps and hooks.

“We can try to implant healing nanobots to rebuild the aging cells once again from scratch.”

“But?” Merlin asks, since there must be a “but.” He’s dressed now, ready to go. He’s not looking forward to the nanobots—he’s heard it feels like dying.

“We’re not sure your body is strong enough for the procedure. Perhaps…”

The doctor waits in silence until Merlin looks up at him.

“Perhaps it’s time to consider other options,” the doctor says.

Merlin swallows. He’s not ready to leave his body yet. He won’t ever be ready, not until Arthur comes back. What if Arthur comes back to the mess that’s the world now, and there is no one to guide him? He’ll be completely lost without Merlin.

Merlin throws his rucksack over his shoulder.

“Just give me the pain-relief patches,” he says. He’ll try to do the rest with his own abilities, as weak as they’ve become lately.

The severity of his state is confirmed when the doctor doesn’t argue, but merely taps away on a panel in the wall. Merlin hopes he’s signing him up for the good drugs.

***

He feels much better on the journey back. Whatever they’ve pumped into his body is working well. No wonder the Orb’s medics are said to be the best. And the most costly—Merlin’s lucky he was Morgana’s guest there and that she was generous enough to tweak his accounts to high levels. His mind’s finally clear and his hands are steady. The bright lights don’t bother him as much. He even eats the in-flight meal from the nutrition dispenser: square, pale bits that taste like nothing he knows, but aren’t totally unpleasant.

It’s dark when he leaves the station. Rain dribbles from the sky, blurring the lights of the ads on the streets. Merlin drifts through the crowd, allowing the drops of water to flow down his hair and under his clothes. It’s refreshing after the artificial environment of the Orb. His zone is filled with late-night vendors, people packed under the tents, sitting under umbrellas on the pavement eating, trying to sell something, or searching for cheap drugs and quick love.

Merlin slips inside the shop—dark and abandoned for the night. He’s relieved when there’s no sign of Li Wei in the back. He’s anxious to go back inside the Net and doesn’t want to waste time talking or fixing things. Morgana hasn’t told him anything new, but his visit to the Orb wasn’t really about this. Much more important is Morgana’s protection and having her backup in case things go wrong.

He tucks away his rucksack, unhooks the clasps of his boots, and splashes his face in the sink. Then he stretches on the mattress and takes a plastic access card in his hand. He doesn’t really need it, but it helps him to focus.

He’s pulled into the Net immediately. It’s so fast and effortless it makes him disoriented for a moment. He’s walking down the castle’s corridor, passing rows of doors to his right. The hall is lit with the soft glow of candles. The stone floor underneath his feet is thick, multiplying the echo of his steps. He climbs the tower and enters a room at the end of the hall where every wall is covered with shelves filled with old books. Perhaps he could’ve imagined his “lobby” in the Net and the representation of its data in a more sophisticated and less nostalgic way than Camelot’s walls and Geoffrey’s library, but he’s sentimental like that.

He rearranges files that need it, but nothing stands out alarmingly, so he walks out of the room and opens the next door, out to an empty, sunny street in Camelot’s lower town. He’s walking down the road, trying to reach out with his consciousness to see as much ahead of himself as he can. It used to be called magic back in his day, but now it’s just… browsing. Any AI can do what he can.

He knows things are not right when the sunlight on the street starts fading—slowly at first, almost not visibly—and then a shadow starts spreading behind Merlin’s back. He quickens his pace, knowing there’s an exit ahead of him. When he looks back he sees blackness eating up the street. Buildings are crumbling and falling one after another, vanishing into the black abyss without a single sound. He starts running, but the shadow behind him is moving fast—he can almost feel the cold brush of it on his skin. Just as it’s about to devour him, someone pulls on his hand, hard, and yanks him out of the shadow’s way.

He’s pulled into a house and through the hallways to the other side of it. It’s dark here, and Merlin can’t quite see who has saved him. His mind plays tricks on him again, showing him a body posture that’s familiar, the shape of Arthur’s shoulders, Arthur’s way of moving. He wants to stop and have a clearer look, but the air behind him whistles and he knows that the Shadow is still trying to gobble him up. He follows the man onto a staircase and then yet another. There’s light at the end of the hall, and Merlin can’t wait to see the man’s face.

Just before exit, the figure guiding him turns around. But then there’s a blast to Merlin’s chest and he’s out of the Net, sitting on his mattress in the shop’s tiny apartment, gasping. A horrible pain twists his heart. He breathes in and out and in and out, and rubs his chest until the pain eases a bit. He could almost have touched him.

***

Merlin scrambles off the floor, gets his gear, and walks outside into the busy, late-night streets. The rain has stopped for once and Merlin tries to inhale as much air as he can. Maybe walking will help to clear his mind a little, ease the dread the Shadow has left. He goes inside a bar where they serve little aromatic dim sum filled with carrots and mushrooms (and where they get fresh vegetables from, Merlin has no idea).

“Hey, Merlin,” the serving girl says. She’s wearing vibrant orange and pink outfit with hair to match. “Wow, you look well!”

“Thanks,” he says, wishing he remembered her name. “Have you seen Ray?”

The girl leans on the counter, smiling. “And if I have, what will I get for that information?” She’s chewing on some kind of synthetic gum. Her breath smells intensely of cherries. The gum is probably drug-infused, since she looks high as a kite, her eyes brightening up each time she blows a bubble.

“What would you like?” Merlin smiles too, his full-blown smile that usually helps him get anything he wants.

She pops a bubble and licks her lips. “A kiss.”

Merlin laughs, suddenly feeling lighter, his chest unclenching. He jumps onto the counter and gives the girl a peck on her lips, tasting the pungent chewing gum in the process.

“Uh.” She giggles. “You are such a tease. And Ray’s at the club.”

Merlin keeps smiling. “I could have figured that out myself.” He winks at her, though, because it’s nice to flirt with a breathing human for a change.

She sticks her tongue out at him and turns to help another customer who has entered the bar.

He’s walking out the door when she calls after him. “Merlin, aren’t you going to eat?” She points at the food placed on the counter. Merlin hasn’t ordered anything, but he won’t say no to free dumplings. He eats them hot out of the container, burning his fingers, tongue and lips in the process, and then he sets out for the club.

It’s a hip place, at least it is for this part of the town. Merlin’s been here before, and thankfully the bot at the door has his eye-scan on the list and lets him in without a hassle. The music is loud enough to spread the vibrations through all the people crowding the floor, dancing with holo-projections and luxurious Boy-A’s. Merlin can feel the beat of the music through his Kevlar shoes. It’s a nice sensation, like being reminded of the life in your cells. He heads to the back, where usually the staff is hiding, observing the customers through a set of old-fashioned, manually operated CCTVs. He knocks on the door, and after yet another eye-scan, the automatic door slides open.

A large, black man wearing camouflage trousers and a “Kiss me, I’m Irish” T-shirt is sitting in front of the monitors and chewing on a protein bar.

“Hi, Merlin,” he says, but he doesn’t turn around to look at him. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Evening, Ray. Been busy,” Merlin says.

“As usual, as usual.” Ray nods towards the monitors. “Have you seen our new Boy-A yet? Nice piece or arse there.”

Merlin sits on a chair next to Ray and looks at the monitors. Most Boy-A’s look pretty much the same to him—perfect bodies, long hair, thin faces, colored eyelashes.

“I need a good firewall,” he says.

“You’ve got a good firewall.” Ray squints at him and starts counting on his fingers. “Antivirus—check. No-hack software—check. Keeping those damn smaller vicious AI’s off your arse—check.”

“I need a better one.”

Ray puts the protein bar on the desk and presses a finger to his temple, turning off the transmission.

“Merlin, you’re _the_ _wizard_. If a program doesn’t work under your fingers, it means it’s impossible.”

“Well, something quite vicious went through my systems and I don’t fancy a repeat.”

“And your pretty AI?” Ray asks. “Couldn’t The Queenprovide you with something?”

Merlin shakes his head. “She’s doing some investigation, but I want to have something as a backup.” He smiles at Ray’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, okay, I admit, I don’t trust her enough.”

Ray leans back in his chair, pensive. “Come back in the morning. I’ll see what I can get you.”

Merlin nods, leaving Ray to do his job in peace.

  
***

There’s still a few good hours left until dawn, and Merlin doesn’t feel like going back to the empty shop, so he heads towards the Avalon. He counts the microchips he has on him and places them on the counter, but the woman—instead of giving him his key card—points to the holo-sign above her head.

“REAL-FEEL! ALL NEW SOFTWARE—ALL BODY SENSATION. 45chp/hr.”

“Ugh,” Merlin grunts. He hates unexpected upgrades. He’s too old for this. One might think that in over three thousand years he’s gotten used to changes, but they irritate him more and more as time drags on. He digs for more microchips, hoping he’s got enough of this black-market currency and doesn’t have to use his credit card and leave a trace. He hands them to the woman.

 _If only the cots were tidied up,_ he thinks, frowning at the usual stains and the stench that hangs in the air in the old, familiar room.

He yelps when right after he’s pulled into the program Arthur appears right next to him, standing so close Merlin can feel the brush of air when virtual Arthur breathes. And _wow_ , the software is good, almost as realistic as the posh sex-programs available on the Orb. Merlin’s come here to think, as usual, but he can’t resist when Arthur’s fingers curl gently over his wrists and he’s being pulled into a kiss, hot and deep. There’s nothing wrong with submitting to this, Merlin thinks. It’s not even real—it’s just a sensation. How’s that different from good porn? He’s not hurting anyone with what he’s doing.

He places his hands on Arthur’s arms. They feel sturdy and genuine. The sensation sometimes flickers and disappears, only to rebound back with too much force, but Merlin doesn’t care. He lets Arthur undress them—it’s always so graceful and effortless in the VR—and then obediently lies on the cot while Arthur kisses him and presses his knee between Merlin’s thighs. He gasps when Arthur’s erection brushes and then grinds into his. It’s so good to be pinned down by the heavy weight of Arthur’s body, so good to be touched and to touch back. Merlin doesn’t remember when he had sex with a human for the last time. It must be over a hundred years ago now. Certainly not since the development of good virtual sex-programs, he reckons. It’s just easier to do it with no strings attached and no hearts broken. He just wishes he could compare what he’s feeling right now to what real Arthur might have actually felt like in bed. He usually tries not to get swallowed by regrets, but sometimes it’s just so bloody hard to resist.

“Turn around,” virtual Arthur says and Merlin does. He’ll do anything that Arthur tells him.

He’s expecting Arthur’s fingers to prod and open him. He’s waiting to be fucked, because this is what this cheap software is about when you mark your preference as a bottom, so he’s totally caught off-guard when Arthur leaves soft, warm kisses up his spine and whispers “my Merlin, how I’ve missed you” in Merlin’s ear. Perhaps Merlin is projecting his deepest desires. Perhaps the software feeds off Merlin’s dreams, Merlin doesn't know.

There's no stretch or burn in Merlin's body when Arthur enters him. Merlin wishes he'd checked pain as his preference because like this he’s reminded it's artificial—by this delicious glide and sensation of being filled without any discomfort. He'd like to be fucked hard, raw, so he could remember how this feels, so he could be aware that he's still alive and very much biological, with tissues that tear and skin that bruises.

Arthur sneaks his hand in between Merlin's body and the cot and holds Merlin's cock tight. Every thrust of Arthur's hips makes it slide inside Arthur's fist. This is the part Merlin couldn't have pulled out of his memories—this is new, software-generated, and maybe that’s why it feels so real. Arthur's hand is rough, calloused from where he's been holding his sword. His fingers are strong, and they press hard, bringing Merlin quickly to the edge of his climax.

Merlin wonders how it would feel if Arthur spent inside of him, if he’d be able to feel it after they were done. Probably not.

“Go on, my Merlin,” Arthur says, sounding rough and out of breath. “Come for me.”

And Merlin would, but he's distracted because he feels the icy licks of cold air and sees the darkness slowly surrounding them. This is not possible. It's closed-circuit, classic porn software; it doesn’t operate on the Net. Whatever there is on the Net shouldn’t have followed Merlin here.

Arthur's still fucking him, oblivious to the Shadow, and Merlin thinks, _So let it be_. He's too far gone now, coming undone under Arthur's touch, focused on being filled and loved, and he doesn't care.

“That's it,” Arthur says. “Just like that.” He pulls Merlin towards his chest, easing his leg under Merlin's knee, and that gives him more room to stroke Merlin's cock in long, hard moves until Merlin sees stars and comes hard with Arthur's cock twitching deep inside him.

“Do you miss me?” Arthur asks again, brushing Merlin's hair aside. His voice is calm and even, like they haven't just fucked hard, and there’s a sadness to it. “I miss you all the time.”

Merlin opens his eyes to the empty, brightly lit room. The session has ended and the monotone surroundings are back.

He wipes himself with wet tissues from the container on the wall and leaves, wondering what the hell just happened and how come the new software knows Merlin's deepest cravings. _Freaking REAL-FEEL_ , he thinks. That’s just an ad slogan. And yes, he’s aware that nerve endings are susceptible to stimulation, and it's absolutely possible to feel a phantom touch as if it’s genuine, but a shitty love-motel shouldn't be able to have access to such high-tech stuff. The times are changing yet again, and Merlin isn’t sure he’s ready for this.

The sky outside is brightening slowly, in a typical cloudy greyish manner that Merlin has grown accustomed to. Vivid, colorful adverts of the night are replaced by the more subtle ones of the daytime, and people go about their early morning chores, opening booths and shops and walking hastily in every direction. Merlin grabs a bagel from a food stand, paying with the chip he’s dug out of his pocket.

He goes back to the club and stands at the door, waiting for the staff to finish whatever they’re doing. He tears the bagel but doesn’t feel like eating, so he wraps it up and saves it for later, when he gets back to the shop. Perhaps Li Wei will want it, or one of the kids.

The door behind him opens and Ray steps outside. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and in the daylight his hair glistens like polished metal.

“Here you go,” he says, passing Merlin a square, black, little piece of plastic. “Just don’t wave this around. It’s a prototype. I might have nicked it from pharm-corp guys.” He grins and then points at Merlin’s face. “And you owe me.”

Merlin nods, shoving the memory card inside of one of his pockets, and slowly walks back to the shop, relishing the chilly and relatively fresh air of early morning. On days like this, when the sun is almost visible, he can’t help but think of Camelot mornings: dragging Arthur out of bed, disheveled and grumbling; waking up next to Arthur in the woods, their limbs stiff from the cold, their bodies pressed so tightly to each other Merlin’s sure Arthur must have felt his erection. Sometimes Merlin wonders if Arthur would have pushed him off back then, if Merlin had risked sneaking his hand around Arthur’s waist to check if Arthur had been hard, too.

 

***

“You look better, kid,” Li Wei says when Merlin enters the shop.

Merlin smiles at the endearment. He’s thousands of years older. “Orb’s docs,” he says.

Li Wei whistles. “Good connections are good. Did you eat?”

“Mm-hm.” He takes the bagel out and waves it in the air.

“That’s not food.” Li Wei frowns.

“Listen,” Merlin says. “I’m going to plug in for an hour or so, check something out, so if you need anything just shake me hard, okay?”

He feels a bit exhausted after the late night, but also anxious to go back inside the Net to check the program. He’s going to do it the normal way this time, to avoid any connection with the Shadow he might’ve established before. He prepares an old fashioned docking-station, just as any random person would do, scans his implanted number to get the access code, presses the memory card in, and then places his palm on the pad to dive in.

The default room he’s starting with is set to dull blues and greys, empty walls waiting to be filled in by the user’s imagination. Merlin opens the program from the memo-stick and installs it. It’s visualized in the most banal way as a brick barrier all around him. It’s funny that people usually build typical structures in the Net even though they could go against every rule of gravity and reason. Merlin, with his sentimental preference for the castle at Camelot, is no different.

He looks around, or rather “feels” around with his magic, but everything seems just fine, so he slowly starts building the basic structures of the castle, setting the plan, sketching out staircases and main rooms. He’s about to start filling it up with color and hue when there’s a rumble underneath his feet. The whole castle is shaking. Merlin tries to redouble the firewall and strengthen it with his own magic, but it’s futile. He covers his head with his hands as the ceiling breaks and falls on his head, followed by darkness.

“Merlin.” There’s a distant voice calling him. “Merlin!” Someone shakes him and Merlin whines, trying to open his eyes. Li Wei is standing over him, pressing a bag filled with ice to his face.

“What happened?” Merlin asks, letting Li Wei wipe his face. His nose must have been bleeding.

“You scared the living shit out of me. I thought you’d had a seizure or something. Have you been doing Syntec again?”

Merlin shakes his head, causing himself a wave of pain and dizziness. He sits up and the headache almost blinds him.

“Shit,” he grunts.

“Fuck, kid. You better stay out of the Net for a while, yeah?” There’s the ding of the bell and Li Wei stands up. “Lie down. I’ll bring you some tea in a bit.”

Merlin stays put, leaning against the wall. Whatever the docs in the Orb’s clinic did for him has completely worn off, leaving Merlin disoriented and aching again. Apparently, he’s not fit anymore to try his strength against any force that’s there. Perhaps he could go see the Druids out in the ruins of old Wales, try to put some life back into him before Morgana finds out something useful about the Shadow.

  
***

 

Merlin steps out of the train onto an empty platform, feeling cold and bone-tired. To get to the outskirts of the city takes ages—ironically, way longer than traveling to any of the Earth's sub-stations. The final train he took reeked of piss and vomit and was painted in all kinds of holo-graffiti that moved and swirled in front of his eyes, making him even more nauseous than before.

It's dark outside and the lights on the platform flicker, the old starter buzzing each time they light up. Merlin wraps his old synthetic coat tighter around him, whishing he'd thought to bring one of those intelligent nano-fabrics that keep the body's temperature at equilibrium no matter the outside conditions. Perhaps he can still get one here if he’s lucky.

There's no one operating the platform, so it takes Merlin some time to figure out which way he should go. Outside, the buildings are dark and in various state of decay. The only places still operating are a handful of late-night food booths.

Merlin walks into one of them. It smells like burned cooking oil and stale alcohol. There’s music playing in the background and a football match is on, the commentator’s voice high-pitched and loud.

“Excuse me, Merlin says to the bartender. “Do you know where can I get a ride to the Desert Camp?”

The guy behind the counter wipes his hands and approaches Merlin, looking him over.

“A Druid boy, you?” he asks. His accent is thick, but Merlin can't place it. It's all so mixed-up nowadays anyway.

“You could say so. Yes.” He smiles.

“There should be a transport in the morning. Ask for it in the pharmacy down the road.”

“Is there a place I can rest while I wait?” Merlin asks, not keen on standing outside in the cold until they open. The man nods to the empty plastic table near the bar, and Merlin sits heavily in a chair next to it. He orders something just out of gratitude, but doesn’t touch it.

In the morning he drags himself to the pharmacy, sits on the dusty steps, and waits again. It’s way past noon when he finally glimpses a vehicle on the horizon. Thirty minutes later, an old four-wheel-drive truck—fuelled by gasoline, not electricity or nuclear power—parks near the store. Merlin wants to stand up but his limbs won’t cooperate with him. There’s buzzing in his ears, and he’s not sure if the words that he says to the driver are the right ones.

When they reach the Druid camp it’s night, and Merlin, lying at the back of the truck, can see stars through the window—something he hasn’t seen for years. The air here is sharply chilly and smells of real ozone, dust and earth. Merlin’s hauled into a tent. Someone’s hands run over his body, and he’s stripped of all his gear. His boots are unhooked and put aside, and he’s wrapped in a heavy blanket that feels like genuine wool on Merlin’s skin.

 

***

The call from Morgana is a standard, superficial holo-connection—Merlin can see his own surroundings, he can feel his aching body, and Morgana’s face is just superimposed on top of it all.

She “sits” down on a chair opposite Merlin. Why she bothers to put on a show Merlin doesn’t know. She’s wearing a grey business suit, her hair is sleek and tied back, and her hands rest calmly on knees wrapped in silk charcoal stockings.

“You were very hard to reach, Emrys,” she says.

“Apparently not hard enough,” Merlin mutters. He’s too tired to stand up so he stays put.

Morgana looks around at the Druid’s tent and frowns in distaste at the setting.

Sometimes Merlin wonders what on earth was he thinking allowing this AI to take Morgana's personality. Perhaps it's faith, Merlin ponders when he watches Morgana now, looking both concerned and disgusted. He coughs and wraps the blanket closer around him, knowing well it won't do much for the chill he feels in his bones.

“I have information,” Morgana says.

Merlin isn’t sure if he’ll be able to do anything about the Shadow on the Net now, even with enough intel. He’s way too exhausted, and even the Old Magic of the Crystal Cave that’s not far from here won’t cooperate with him. He’s tried to draw it out of the core of the Earth and failed. He doesn’t understand why the energy of this place won’t recharge him as it used to. This is the ground he’s walked on with Arthur thousands of years ago. If this place doesn’t heal him, he doesn’t know what else can.

“What do you want?” he asks Morgana, because AI’s don’t do charity.

“Nothing. I’m doing this because I like you.” She smiles, and if Merlin didn’t know her better he’d say she’s being sincere. He stares at her impassively. She’ll tell him her motivation whether he wants to hear it or not.

“Every being fights for existence, Merlin, even me,” she says eventually. “I believe that what’s going on with the data will affect me as well. I want to prevent my own demise.”

That seems like a legitimate reason. He coughs again and curses when pain spikes through his back. “So, what’s the Shadow then?” he asks.

“You.”

“Me,” he repeats after her.

“It took me a while to figure it out, I have to admit. It was a nice puzzle to solve. But it seems that you are”—she flicks her fingers, imitating a falling leaf—“disappearing, along with every piece of information you’ve ever touched. It needs to be stopped before the Net breaks.”

Merlin thinks about it—how it felt to be chased by the Shadow on the Net, how he feels in real life. He sighs. “Even if that’s true, I’m not egocentric enough to believe that the lack of my existence would cause the end of the world.”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Of course it won’t. But along with you, huge parts of collective memory will disappear. Thousands of years of knowledge and data will perish. I might vanish, too.”

Merlin watches his hands. They do seem translucent. But that’s just Morgana’s playing with his perception through the holo-call.

“You need to come across to the Net,” Morgana says. “It’s high time you left your bio-body.”

“No.” The answer is still no.

She’s anticipated it, counted out every probability. She’s well prepared for negotiations. “We’ll pull your Arthur out for you.”

Merlin shakes his head. “It won’t be him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. There is no other Arthur but the one in your memories.”

And perhaps it is so, but how can Merlin ever be sure? Kilgharrah was mostly right about everything else. Why would he have been wrong about Arthur’s resurrection? He couldn’t have possibly meant Arthur as a cyberspace construct...

Morgana hesitates, and Merlin thinks that even the pauses in her speech are well calculated. “Has it ever occurred to you that your connection to Arthur might work both ways?” she asks. “He gives you a reason to act and persevere. However, since you are”—she waves a hand towards him, indicating his state—“ _unwell_ , the time to act is now. Besides, don’t you think your Arthur might be already there, waiting for you? I’ve seen data fluctuating around the Shadow, forming in a way that’s familiar to how you perceive him in those rendezvous you’re having.”

Of course she’d know about this. Merlin’s not even embarrassed anymore.

“But I _like_ to be biological,” he says stubbornly. “I like to eat and breathe and feel. I don't want to be like...” He wants to finish “like you,” but he doesn't want to offend her. AI's emotional patterns are so very unpredictable.

“Yes, because from what I can see you are enjoying your human condition so very much. How does food taste to you?" She nods towards the uneaten plate of processed rice, and Merlin winces. He's not been able to swallow any food for weeks now. “Breathe in, Merlin. How does the air feel in your lungs?”

Merlin doesn’t answer.

“I’ve sent a Transmitting Box for you, so you can connect with me when you make up your mind.” She’s always so sure of herself.

Merlin closes his eyes. “Leave me alone,” he says.

“Don’t wait until it’s too late,” she warns him, and disconnects the call.

Merlin lies back down, counting his breaths, wondering if it hurts more on the inhale or the exhale. He’s long since run out of all the pain-relief patches, and there’s nothing to dull the ache now. He hasn’t cried in years, but now he feels warm tears flowing down his cheekbones, wetting his ears. He still has a choice, but then what kind of choice is this? Try to stay alive, for however long that will be possible, and perhaps never see Arthur again? Or let Morgana help to write down the patterns of his mind into the machine and live there forever, possibly with Arthur—real or not—at his side?

He slowly scrambles off the ground. His legs are stiff and it’s hard to walk, but he manages to go outside of the tent. He squints at the sun, wrapping his arms around himself against the wind. He wonders when he got so used to shadows and rain and the suffocating air of the city that he can’t stand the empty, dry planes of what once used to be green Wales.

“You all right, brother?” one of the Druids— _Jay_ , Merlin thinks his name is—asks.

“Yeah, fine.” Merlin says. “I believe there should be a parcel for me? A Transmitting Box? And I need a lift to the mountains.”

 

***

Despite the surroundings being different, Merlin doesn’t ever have trouble finding the Cave. All the old landmarks are gone, but he can feel the pull of it, luring him with energy he can’t draw into his body anymore. He doesn’t need light to walk through the tunnels and then inside the main cave where the ancient crystals shine with bluish light.

He takes his rucksack and pulls out the cloth, the Sigil, the waterskin, and Morgana’s Transmitting Box, placing it all on the nearest stone. Then he sits next to it and switches the device on. The connection is immediate—Morgana appears right in front of him, looking solid and radiant. She looks around and smiles, a happy but greedy smile. She twirls and claps her hands like a little girl, then reaches towards the nearest crystal and shoves her hand right back when she’s burned.

“What?” Merlin grins. “Did you think I'd let you here without any limits?”

“No,” she smiles back. “Still, it was worth a try.”

Merlin lies down on the stone ground. “I'm ready.” Now that he’s made up his mind, he wants to be done with it as soon as possible.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ he thinks. If there’s a real Arthur somewhere in the world, still sleeping, he’s going to wake up one day and Merlin's not going to be there for him.

But deep in his heart Merlin _knows_ Morgana is right. There’s only one Arthur. And he’s not on this Earth.

“Hit me,” he says.

Morgana kneels right next to Merlin and places his head gently on her lap. It’s a projection, but a bloody good one. Her fingers feel cool on Merlin’s skin.

“Sleep, Emrys,” she says, brushing Merlin’s hair back, stroking his cheek like a mother would.  

 

***

.

.

.

.

.

***

 

He chuckles and shakes his head when he sees where Morgana’s put him. She must have created this enclave in the Net especially for him, weaving it out of his memories. Silly, over-dramatic AI.

His feet are bare, making shallow dents in the cool, soft sand next to the water’s surface. For a moment he breathes in the brilliantly fresh air, enjoying the smell of green woods and damp moss. It’s warm, and the sun is high up in the sky. The reflection of its rays on the dark, glistening water creates a ripple that looks like a smile. Merlin bends down, picking up a blade of grass and turning it around in his fingers. It’s light green, and there are little veins visible inside when Merlin looks at it against the light. He puts the grass down and then he sees it—the steady movement on the calm surface of the water, first distant and then more prominent.

Merlin doesn’t move. He’s watching, his heart oddly calm for a moment. And then, when he recognizes the familiar shape of shoulders emerging from the glistening lake, it starts to pound so hard he can feel the blood pulsing loudly in his ears.

Arthur’s hair is wet, sticking to his forehead, and his arms and chest are bare. He walks out of the water elegantly, smiling a shy smile as if he’s embarrassed to be making a show out of it. Merlin steps into the lake and extends his hand, giving Arthur leverage in the knight’s gesture as they touch palms to elbows. And then Arthur pulls on Merlin’s arm, or maybe it’s Merlin who’s pulling. It doesn’t matter because they’re hugging, Merlin burying his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, breathing in Arthur’s smell, relishing the warmth of Arthur’s body while the shallow, cool water washes over their legs.

“I’ve missed you so much, you idiot,” Arthur says. “How much longer were you going to keep me waiting?”

If there’s anything more real in the world, Merlin doesn’t know what it is.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Spoiler alert!**  
>  Merlin's body deteriorates, which can be seen as serious illness or terminal illness, since he cannot recover, but mostly means he’s just too old to continue living in the human form. Merlin sacrifices his physical life for the greater good, which can be seen as suicide, or assisted suicide (as he has help), but it is not the end of his life. It’s the future, so mind-pattern can be “written down” into cyberspace, and so Merlin can live forever as a “ghost in the machine”.  
> The ambiguous/ not-quite-HEA ending refers to Merlin and Arthur reuniting but not in the physical world.
> 
>  **Glossary**  
>  Okay, so I feel like a douche putting a 2-page glossary for a small story like this but my pre-readers have suggested this so here it goes!  
>  **Ad-brellas** – I made it up. Free umbrellas that display ads, available at city corners.  
>  **AI** – Artificial Intelligence. Computer program with human-like intelligence, adaptive and capable of learning.  
>  **AR** – Augmented Reality, reality enhanced with computer-generated images, sounds, data, etc. (Example: when you see computer-generated images on your phone that are super-imposed on a view of a landscape.)  
>  **Bots / Nanobots** – robots, or smaller nanobots (so small they are on the cell-level).  
>  **Boy-A** – I made this term up. An androgynous person, with body parts enhanced/changed with technology so much that she/he is a third gender person—neither a girl nor a boy. Typical (kind of) for Cyberpunk stories.  
>  **CCTV** \- Closed-circuit television, usually used for surveillance  
>  **Chip** – a microchip—in this story it’s a currency on the Black Market. You pay with data storage space for goods and services.  
>  **Cyberpunk** – a genre within SF that deals with future world, full of advanced technology, corporations ruling the world, people connected to the machines, crowded cities of the future and usually some underground movement against the given political situation. Most known book is “Neuromancer” by William Gibson, but there’s also a RPG game, a bad movie called Johnny Mnemonic, brilliant manga and then anime “Ghost in the Shell” and there are traits of Cyberpunk in movies like “Blade Runner”, “AI” or “Minority Report”. For some nice dark Cyberpunk-ish picspirations I can rec http://neuromaencer.tumblr.com  
>  **Cyberspace** – “The Net” (a symbolic representation of virtual space filled with data online)  
>  **Holo-projection** – a hologram display of an image / set of images / video – example is Princess Leia asking Obi Wan Kenobi for help in Star Wars.  
>  **Nano-** (technology) – smallest tech-stuff, this notion is often present in SF. (Example: think of it as a super-small computer programs running through things, also your body, and mending/creating stuff, like little white blood cells in “La Vie” series.)  
>  **The Net** – basically our Internet but mixed with typical Cyberpunk Cyberspace – think of it as of a 3-dimensional Internet (one where you have streets and buildings and little worlds, kind of a Matrix thing).  
>  **The Orb** – I made it up. One of Earth’s orbit space stations, ruled by a rebellious AI (Morgana) who declared herself a Queen. The gravity level is lower than on Earth, maybe not zero-G but less than on Earth. (I’m sorry William Gibson for stealing your magnificent ideas!)  
>  **Software** – computer programs, as opposed to hardware which is the “body” of the computer.  
>  **Sub-station** – I made the term up (I think?) – Earth’s cosmic stations placed all around the Orbit. Sub – as Submissive to the main “station” that is the Earth itself.  
>  **Syntec** – a drug, I made it up. Think of it as something similar to Ecstasy but way better.  
>  **VR** – virtual reality, computer-generated simulated reality. (Example: when you wear goggles and headphones and dive into a computer-generated world.)  
>  **Zones** – parts of the city that spreads through the most parts of the Earth – UK, US, other places. (I totally stole that idea from Gibson’s “The Sprawl”, sorry!)  
> 


End file.
